


Qualifications

by moemachina



Category: Ghostbusters (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moemachina/pseuds/moemachina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the subway, Janine mentally rehearsed answers to possible interview questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Qualifications

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LillyRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillyRose/gifts).



On the subway, Janine mentally rehearsed answers to possible interview questions.

_How many words do I type? Oh, sixty. I type sixty words per minute._

She worried at the cuticle on the pinky finger on her left hand. 

_Is sixty a good number? Is it believable? Should it be higher? How many words do I type? Oh, I knew I should have taken that computer class at the community center last year._

She smoothed out her best skirt (deep purple, very chic, bought on sale two years ago). She could do this, she told herself. She had gotten jobs before. She could get this one. 

_Why am I qualified for this job? Well, I can answer phones, I can schedule appointments, I can manage an office. I have a lot of experience. I'm a real team player._

She found that she was tugging nervously on her left earring (chunky and black, an unusually good gift from a long-ago boyfriend) and made herself fold her hands in her lap. Everything was going to go fine. She was great. This place would be lucky to have her. 

_What is my greatest weakness? Well, gee, sometimes I just work too hard. Care too much. Dedicate myself, heart and soul, to my employer._

She had been fired from her last job two months ago. They said it was because of her attitude -- "too much sarcasm" were their exact words -- but Janine knew it was because Pa and Ma Ribera (proprietors of Ribera's Leather Emporium) wanted a pretext to hire their dim-bulb niece as their receptionist. Not that Janine was bitter; it had been a terrible job, and Pa Ribera had been awfully free with his hands. But losing that job had meant two months of pounding the pavement, of circling jobs in the classified section and cold-calling businesses in the yellow pages, and her savings account was nearly depleted. She needed this job. 

Her hands tightened into fists. No. This job needed _her_.

*****

As it turned out, they were not all that interested in her typing speed.

"Have you or anyone you know ever demonstrated any telekinetic ability?" 

"Excuse me?" Janine asked, staring at the three men seated in front of her. 

The man who had asked the question coughed slightly and adjusted his glasses. He was a tall man with unruly dark hair, and he had a pleasantly baritone voice. So, to be fair, Janine _had_ been a little distracted when he had opened his mouth to ask the first question. A little. But she was also startled by the question itself. 

Misunderstanding her confusion, the round-faced man sitting to her left eagerly straightened. "What Egon means is, have you ever moved a physical object with your mental energies? Or seen anyone do the same? Bent a spoon? Levitated a plate? Slammed a door? Have you ever done that?" 

"Or anyone she knows, Ray." 

"Or anyone you know," Ray said, beaming. 

"No," Janine said. "I've never...bent a spoon." 

"What about telepathy," said the man to her right. He was slumped to one side, with his head resting against his hand, and he had the look of someone who was deeply hungover. "Any telepathic episodes?" 

"Telepathic episodes," Janine repeated flatly. Her hands were beginning to ball into fists. 

"Peter means, have you ever experienced--" 

"I know what telepathy is," Janine said, emphasizing every word. "No, Dr. Venkman. I have never experienced a telepathic episode." 

"Or anyone you know?" Egon asked. He was taking notes in a little black book. 

"No," she said. 

"What about a psychic event?" Peter Venkman asked. He was cleaning his nails. "Any premonitions of the future? Any dreams that came true?" 

Janine angrily opened her mouth -- and then hesitated. 

Egon leaned forward. "Yes?" 

Peter stopped cleaning his nails. 

Janine thought for a moment, and when she spoke, she did not answer the question. "I don't understand these questions. What kind of business are you fellas running?" 

The three men exchanged a look.

"It's a perfectly legitimate business," Peter said. "Very on the up-and-up." 

"What kind of business do you think we represent, Miss Melnitz?" Ray was clearly doing his best to look shrewd. 

"Well, I..." Janine took a deep breath. "Your advertisement just said that you were a new business and looking for a receptionist. And here you three are, in this abandoned police station--" 

"Fire station," Egon said, spectacles glinting. 

"--whatever, fire station, it looks like it should be condemned--"

"I agree," Egon said. 

"-- _and_ now you're asking me questions about telepathy." She squinted at the three of them suspiciously. "Is this for real? Are you guys really starting a business?" She stiffened. "Are you guys some sort of...criminals?" Suddenly, the abandoned and silent building around them took on a sinister significance. Would anyone be able to hear her if she started screaming? Is this how she was going to die: murdered by three crazed scientists? She should have listened to her mother. She should have carried mace. 

But Ray was chuckling. "No, no, no. We're a real business! We're just a little unconventional. We're in the extermination business. Sort of." 

"Like...rats and bugs?" Janine asked.

"Sort of," Egon intoned. 

"Janine," Peter said, leaning back and steepling his fingers over his chest, "do you believe in ghosts?" 

"Ghosts? Seriously?" 

"It is a very serious question. You see, Janine, we're paranormal investigators. Formerly we dedicated our pursuits to the ivory towers of academia, but recently, we... _decided_ to provide our services to a haunted and possessed public. We're the Ghostbusters. At your service." He doffed an invisible cap at her. 

Janine tugged at her left earring. "Huh. So you hunt...ghosts." 

"That's the plan." 

"Have you hunted a lot of ghosts?" 

The three men exchanged another look. 

"One," Ray said. "We've hunted one ghost. Or, at least, we've _seen_ one ghost. But we have reason to believe that many more exist."

"It's a little theoretical at the moment," Egon said. 

"But potentially very lucrative," Peter said. 

"Huh," Janine said again. 

"I realize that this is a lot to take in," Peter said, gazing up at the ceiling. "You've had a perfectly pleasant mundane life, and how we're here, tearing back the veil, revealing the dark and gruesome horrors that lurk within the shadows--" 

"No," Egon said, "she believes in ghosts." 

Peter blinked. "Does she?" 

Janine tilted her head to one side and regarded Egon. "Do I?" 

"You do," he said. "It's patently obvious from your reaction. Your pupils dilated and your breathing accelerated, which are classic anxiety reactions, but you did not deny or contest the idea of ghosts or the supernatural."

Next to him, Ray was nodding enthusiastically. "Have you ever encountered a phantasm, Miss Melnitz?" 

Janine watched Egon. 

"No, I think not," Egon said, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at her. "But I think she has experienced a psychic event, and I think she believes in the supernatural."

"Sure," Janine said. "If you really want to know, I'm a little bit psychic. All the women in my family are. My mother once dreamed that a terrible calamity was going to happen. And then, the very next day, _Perry Mason_ was cancelled." 

Peter snorted. 

"She was a very big _Perry Mason_ fan," Janine said firmly. "She was devastated." 

"So, as a result, you believe in the supernatural?" Peter asked dryly. 

Janine narrowed her eyes at him. "I believe that the women in my family know when things are coming down the pike. I believe my horoscope, every single morning. I believe that walking under ladders or breaking a mirror is bad luck. Sure, I believe in ghosts. Why not? I've never had any reason to _not_ believe in them." 

She took a deep breath and leveled a finger at Peter. "But it doesn't matter if I believe in ghosts, or if I'm a little bit psychic--" 

"--although, if you are, we might want to run some tests," Ray said.

"--what _matters_ is that you need a receptionist," Janine said, pointing angrily at Ray. "You need someone to run this office, and run payroll, and make sure the bills get paid because you three are clearly incapable of that."

"Hey!" Peter said. 

Janine ignored him. "What matters is that you three need a receptionist, and I am a receptionist. I am a _great_ receptionist." Her pointing finger centered on Egon. "What matters is that you need me." 

Egon stared at her. 

"I think we should hire her," Ray said. "How much do you want an hour, Miss Melnitz?" 

Peter's head whipped around in sudden agitation. "Wait, what? I mean, Miss Melnitz, thank you for coming in, we'll take a serious look at your resume and let you know in a couple of weeks--" 

"No, we don't have that kind of time," Ray said. "We need to get everything going as soon as possible, and we need someone to manage the office. And look! Here is someone who wants the job! It's perfect! Everything is coming together! Why stand in the way of that?" 

Egon closed his little book. "I would support Ray's choice. Do you want to work for us, Miss Melnitz?" 

"Yes," she said. "I'll take the job. I assume you'll want me to start immediately?"

Peter made a noise like a kettle coming to boil, but Ray and Egon were already standing up and shaking her hand. "That sounds perfect," Ray said. "We'll work out the details tomorrow. And we'll buy you a computer. And a coffee maker!" 

"And a desk," Janine said. "All of life's necessities." 

Ray glanced at Peter, who was still simmering in his chair, and a little bit of his ebullience left him. "Well, yes, we'll see you tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp, Miss Melnitz, and um, I guess Egon will show you out." Left unspoken, the implicit remainder of that sentence: _so that Peter can yell at me in private._

Egon blinked. "Oh. Well. This way, Miss Melnitz. I'll show you to those giant doors over there." 

"Please," she said, "call me Janine." 

He shrugged. "Okay." Now that he was walking alongside her, Janine admired his height all over again. He had a good face. A deep voice. Great hair. 

And although he now seemed utterly indifferent to her, Janine had not forgotten the look he had given her when she had pointed at him.

Janine racked her brains for something to say during the short walk to the doors. "Don't you want to know how many words per minute I can type?" 

Egon looked down at her. "How many words can you type, Janine?" 

"Sixty," Janine said firmly. 

"Okay," Egon said, and something like a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Conveniently, that is exactly the number we needed."

*****

Two months later, Janine arrived at work to find them clustered around the coffee maker. 

"We have reason to think that this Mr. Coffee might be possessed," Ray informed her gravely. 

"Good morning, boys," Janine said wearily as she pulled off her scarf. "Did you ever go home last night?" 

"Couldn't," Egon said. "Ray and I were working through a new equation. Could change everything." 

"Meaning it might make our traps 0.0003% more efficient," Peter said, yawning. 

"Why didn't _you_ go home?" Janine asked, bending down to take off the sensible shoes (Reebok sneakers, white and pink) she wore on the streets and put on the slightly less sensible shoes (red pumps) she wore in the office. 

"And miss all this thrilling excitement?" Peter gave her a wan smile. "I couldn't tear myself away." 

"Where's Winston?" 

"As it turns out, he _could_ tear himself away." 

"Anyway," Ray said impatiently, "I've noticed a steady degradation in the quality of coffee brewed by this Mr. Coffee here. And due to its proximity to the containment unit, it occurred to me that there might be some psychic leaks affecting it." 

"So we're going to take it down to the lab," Egon said. He was examining the filter basket of the coffee maker. "Run some tests on it." 

Janine crossed her arms. "Okay. Two questions." 

"Yes," Peter said, slumped against the wall. "It _is_ bigger than a breadbox, and it _is_ a mineral. Now guess!" 

Janine ignored him. "First question, is there really a danger of...psychic leaks? Could they affect other things in the office?" 

Egon and Ray exchanged a glance. "It is too early to tell," Egon said. "Further tests are needed." 

" _Okaaay_ ," Janine hissed. "Then my second question is, did you try cleaning it?" 

They stared at her. "What was that?" Ray asked. 

"You know. Clean it? Run some plain water through it? Or some white vinegar? Flush out any gunk that's accumulated?" 

The three men stared down at the Mr. Coffee as if it were an alien artifact. 

"You need to clean coffee makers?" Ray asked. 

"I always assumed that they were a self-cleaning object," Peter said. "You know, the same way you never need to wash your towels, because they're just touching your clean body." 

Janine shuddered. "God, Venkman, I'm not even going to address _that_. But I suggest that, before you exorcise Mr. Coffee, you try cleaning him out first." 

"Huh," Egon said. "That solution had not occurred to us." 

Janine rolled her eyes. "Where would you three be without me? Dead in a ditch, I bet." 

"Hey, now, we're not _that_ helpless," Peter protested. 

"Yes, you are," Janine said. "Who made sure all your parking tickets got paid last month? Who had to sweet-talk the library into letting you have borrowing privileges again after you destroyed that old book? Who remembered Winston's birthday?" She put her hands on her hips. "That's right, who was the _one person_ to remember Winston's birthday and make sure there was a cake so you three could sing him 'Happy Birthday' and pretend that you'd remembered all along?"

"Oh, come on, that's--"

"No, she's right," Egon said, regarding Janine. "Without Janine, we would never pay any bills or remember any social obligations. Without heat or water or food, we would surely perish." Something that was almost a smile crossed his mouth. "Although I would not want to guarantee that it would necessarily happen in a ditch." 

Peter held up a hand. "Now, now, I would be the first to acknowledge Janine's many contributions to this office, but--" 

Ray, who had been squinting at the coffee maker, looked up at this. "Well, Peter, you have to acknowledge that she _is_ the office. She made us buy her that desk, after all. And we arranged all the furniture to her specifications." 

"Yes, but--" 

"And she designed the daily schedule, and always picks the place we get take-out from, and she's the only one who knows how our telephone system works." 

"Yes, _about that_ \--" 

"Face it, Peter," Egon said. "We need her." 

Peter opened his mouth -- and then hesitated. "Okay, fine," he said at last. "Fair enough. We do need you, Janine." He performed an elaborate mock-bow towards Janine. "Without your assistance, milady, we would clearly be dead. In a ditch." 

"I am well aware," Janine said tartly, but inside her chest, she felt an unexpectedly warm glow. It felt nice to be appreciated, and Janine was not particularly accustomed to feeling appreciated. After all, who appreciated a receptionist? They did all the work and earned none of the credit; they were always just a neutral voice on the other end of the phone, a calm face on the other side of the desk. 

Because she was feeling unusually warm and tender toward the three of them (even Peter), Janine said, "Well, I suppose you should try cleaning Mr. Coffee, but in the interest of scientific inquiry, I guess you guys should also run some tests on it. You know. To rule out the possibility that it has been...infected by ghosts, or whatever." 

Ray visibly brightened. "Really? We can still run the tests?" 

"We have to be sure," Janine said magnanimously. "I'm just sorry that I'm not going to get my morning cup of coffee today." 

Egon removed his glasses and began polishing them with the edge of his sweater-vest. "Hmmm. That does sound unfortunate." 

Meanwhile, Ray was eagerly unplugging the coffee maker and bundling it in his arms. "I'll bring it down to the basement," he said, squeaking with excitement. "I'll get started right away." 

"I'll be down soon," Egon said, still polishing. 

Peter pushed himself away from the wall. "Is there anything on the docket for today, Janine?" 

"You've got an apartment building in Brooklyn tonight with a bleeding elevator, but there's nothing for the next twelve hours. You should go home, Peter. Take a nap."

Peter yawned. "Right, right. See you guys tonight, then." He shuffled toward the door. 

Janine watched him go and then looked back to Egon, who was still fixedly working away at his lenses. 

"You should not be deprived of your morning coffee," he said suddenly. 

"Well, Mr. Coffee just walked off," Janine said. "So I think that ship has sailed." 

"We could go get a cup of coffee," Egon said. Without his glasses, his eyebrows sprang into sharp relief against his face and emphasized how dark his eyes were. He regarded Janine without blinking. 

"We could," Janine said, and the warm glow in her chest expanded. But, because she was the person that she was, she could not help adding, "But I've just taken off all my warm things and switched shoes. If we go back out, I'll have to put them all back on again." 

"I can wait," Egon said. "I have nothing better to do." 

"You told Ray you were going to help him run those tests," Janine said, smiling up at him. 

"Yes," he said, "but the first test involves submerging the Mr. Coffee in a mercury solution for three hours, so I have some time."

"God dammit," Janine said. "In that case, we're buying another Mr. Coffee on the way back, and you guys are going to throw away that old Mr. Coffee when you're done with it." 

"That'll be convenient," Egon said. "Because the third test involves incinerating it." 

Janine was winding her scarf around her neck. "You know, Egon, I never know when you're joking or not." 

"That's easy," Egon said, and his teeth appeared in an unexpected grin. "I never joke."


End file.
